Trouble in Mind: The Collected Stories, Volume 3

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I began writing fiction at the ripe young age of eleven. Sometimes I claim that that first effort was a novel, since I divided my opus into chapters (two) and included a jacket with cover art that I drew myself. But there’s an expression I’ve heard down here in North Carolina: Just ’cause your cat has a litter in the laundry basket doesn’t mean the kittens are socks.

What I wrote back then, fifty years ago, was a short story, whatever I called it.

I’ve always had an affection for reading short fiction and I’ve learned much about writing from the stories of Edgar Allan Poe, Conan Doyle and Ray Bradbury, among many others. I also thoroughly enjoy writing short stories. Now, it’s my entrenched belief that all storytelling has as its most important goal emotionally engaging the audience as much as possible. I don’t want to come away from reading a book or seeing a film and think, Well, wasn’t that interesting? I want to think: OMG, I need to calm down, take a breath, allow the stitch in my side to ease from the uncontrolled laughter or let the tears subside… In short, I want to be captivated by art and entertainment.

In novels this level of intensity is accomplished by creating multidimensional characters and throwing each into his or her own roller-coaster subplots that are rife with reversals and escalating levels of conflicts, which are ultimately resolved. (I hate ambiguous endings!) In short stories, an author doesn’t have the time or space to follow this formula. But short fiction still needs to captivate, to enthrall. What’s one to do?

The answer is to go for the gut with a shocking twist, a surprise, the unexpected.

An example: My novel version of Lassie would be to tell a multilayered story about Timmy, the collie, a broken home life for the kid and disreputable corporate interests digging wells where they shouldn’t. We’d speed through these several intersecting subplots to a sweaty-palm ending where Timmy is, thank God, saved from the well and Lassie finds evidence to land the evil developers in prison.

O joyous day!

My short story version would be this: The boy’s down the well. Cut to: Lassie running through the fields frantically. Cut back to: Timmy’s about to drown. But then a paw reaches over the edge. The kid grabs it and is pulled out of the freezing water. Cut to: Lassie, a mile away, still chasing the squirrel she’s been after for ten minutes. Back to: Timmy, outside the well, standing in front of the large wolf who just plucked him to safety and who’s eyeing his main course hungrily.

Sorry, kid.

The stories in this anthology are typical of that approach. What you see isn’t, I hope, what you think you’re seeing.

Six of the stories are new, one Lincoln Rhyme (“A Textbook Case”), one Kathryn Dance (“Fast”), one John Pellam (“Paradice”) and three stand-alones (“Game,” “The Competitors,” and “Reconciliation”), though those familiar with my older work will note that “Game” was inspired by a short piece I did for Esquire magazine years ago on the Kenneth and Sante Kimes murder of New York socialite Irene Silverman. Similarly, “Paradice” had its roots in my story “Switchback,” which appeared in the wonderful Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine about fifteen years ago. I’d be curious to know what any of you think of the twist that ends “Paradice” now; it’s one of my all-time favorites.

I should mention, too, that one thing I like about short stories is that they allow an author to step out of genre more easily than novels do. I believe in brand identification — a lofty corporate way of saying you must make sure your audience knows what they’re getting when they buy your fiction. My readers enjoy my thrillers, so I’ll continue to produce crime novels, rather than fantasy or science fiction.

Short stories, though, involve a more modest commitment on the part of readers. So I can easily slip out of category briefly with a story or two, while assuring fans that my next novel will be filled with the murder and mayhem they’ve come to expect from me.

Two stories in this collection, “The Therapist” and “Forever,” are genre benders, bordering on the occult. (Or are they…?)

Welcome to this, the third collection of my short fiction. The first two anthologies were entitled Twisted and More Twisted. In casting about for a name for this volume, I decided to move away from that theme (What was left, anyway: Excessively Twisted? Son of Twisted?). I opted for a similar yet fresh phrase — one that clearly describes many of the characters we meet in these pages — and, some would suggest, the author as well.

I take that as a compliment.

J.D.